The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [14]
Perhaps a humorous tale? Surely the Obarskyrs shared a strong sense of humor; how else could they have endured the counsel of the wizard Vangerdahast all these years?
No, that wasn't quite the thing, either. The wit of Taeros Hawkwinter was too often a kettle that seethed and scalded. Heated words from afar were even more likely to be swiftly introduced to devouring flames.
Better to start with a nursery tale, one Taeros had favored as a child. Yes, safe enough to pass the judgments of nursemaids. Something they might enjoy reading aloud to a boy king.
Eagerly he began to write, the familiar story flowing swiftly onto the page. This had always been one of his favorite tales. For once, the hero wasn't the strong young chieftain or the beautiful golden maiden. From such sprang worthy heroes, of course, but why not the occasional quick-witted lass?
Or for that matter, an ink-stained nobleman?
Swiftly ascending boots thundered on the stairs: Two pairs, at least, of expensive heels.
Hastily Taeros powdered his page, blotted his quill, capped the ink, and shuffled pages out in a concealing fan over all, leaving a satirical poem-something suitably frivolous he'd dashed off over morning ale, to explain away ink-stained fingers-atop the pile.
Familiar grumbling echoed on the stair, too low-pitched to make out words, but from an unmistakable source: Starragar.
Taeros grinned. Ho, then, Faerun, salute you Starragar Jardeth, tireless voice of dissent! Every circle of friends seemed to have a Starragar. His constant nay-saying annoyed as often as it amused, but that didn't mean the man wasn't occasionally correct. Even a water clock run dry told the right time twice a day.
On cue, Starragar poked his head into the room, surveying it with distaste already riding his pale face. His hard gaze fell upon the portrait over the hearth, and he sighed loudly.
A Hawkwinter grin widened. Last winter, they'd all sat together for a portrait. As a joke, they'd had the painter render Starragar entirely in black and white. In this, art fell not far short of life.
With his lank black hair, customary somber garb, and skin no blaze of sun could brown, Starragar seemed strangely colorless.
The young man just behind Jardeth was his opposite: Korvaun Helmfast was tall and fair-haired, with serious blue eyes and a quiet, thoughtful manner.
"Dock Ward," Starragar said flatly and dismissively, as if that alone was sufficient condemnation.
Korvaun slipped past Starragar. Catching the grin Taeros wore, he greeted his friend with an easy nod.
"Nicely done," Taeros offered, sweeping his hand to indicate the entire room. Starragar's predictable response was a disdainful sniff.
A belly-shaking burst of laughter rolled up the stairwell from below. The friends exchanged delighted smiles, and even Starragar's face lit up. As one the three nobles rushed to the door.
Malark Kothont was mounting the stairs two at a time, despite the large wooden crate in his massive arms. Keeping pace with him was Beldar Roaringhorn, their unofficial leader, darkly handsome face smiling but arms empty.
As usual, an inner annoyance rose in Taeros. Unlike the rest of them-young blades of Waterdeep born to wealth, whose proud merchant families had claimed nobility generations ago-Malark had royal blood. His mother was from the Moonshaes, distant kin to High Queen Alicia. Malark was, quite simply, better than the rest of them. His blindness to this grated on Taeros.
Malark tossed the crate onto a chair and threw his powerful arms wide. "I'm back, lads, and thirsty as a Ruathymaar sailor! I see ale in plenty, but where are the wenches?"
"There're no women in the Moonshaes?" Starragar asked dryly.
Malark winked. "Aye, but I've been there a year and more, haven't I?"
Long enough to acquire considerable bulk, it was evident, not to mention considerable facial hair. Though Malark was only two-and-twenty, he was muscled like a dock worker, and the curly red beard spilling down his tunic would be the envy of many a dwarf.
Beldar clapped him on the shoulder. "Run through all